October

Tedrick was the better part of a foot shorter than most of his students. His small Asian frame looked underdeveloped beside his many athletic students, and his oddly pale skin looked discolored against the healthy twenty-somethings he had in class every day. On this particular afternoon, as he walked back from the dining hall toward his cottage, he whistled, and the trace of a smile lingering in the air as he moved along. He had always only been the mind, but these students were the mind, the creativity, and the movement. These students, he smiled happily, they were the future.